Honesty and Courage
by ristee
Summary: Pam wishes Jim had come to her art show.  Oneshot, postBusiness School, slightly AU.  My first Office fic, reviews are appreciated!


Author's note: This is set after "Business School" and slightly AU. This is my first Office fic and un-beta'ed, so please go easy on me! Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: "The Office" isn't mine, although I do _wish_ I owned Jim sometimes.

**Honesty and Courage**

_He didn't come_.

Pam sat at reception on the morning following her first art show—well, such as it was…six watercolors pinned to the gallery wall, and apparently no Van Gogh, thank you very much, Gil—watching Jim move his things back to his old desk.

His _old_ desk. The one where Pam could look up and see his face, where he could catch her eye without spinning around in his chair, where they had… Well. Things were different now. She was with Roy (again) and he was (still) with Karen, two facts that should have precluded the hollow disappointment Pam felt when she thought about the fact that Jim hadn't come to her show.

As though he felt her looking at him, Jim glanced her way as he rearranged his knickknacks. She thought about smiling, but just went back to FreeCell instead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sigh and flop down in his chair, stretch his long limbs and settle in for the day. His shirtsleeves were just a little too short, she noticed, and suddenly, powerfully, missed the way he used to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. He would lean on the reception counter and they would—but that was a long time ago.

She hadn't expected him to show up—she hadn't given him a flyer, just taped one up in the kitchen, hoping he'd see it on a coffee break—but had secretly hoped to see him wander around a corner, give her one of those true smiles (_the kind I haven't seen since we pranked Andy_, she thought), and say "Next stop, the Met, Beesly. Nice." Or something. Roy had come, which was nice, but he didn't really _get_ her art the way she imagined Jim would. She liked to think he would look at the office supplies, the flowers, the coffee mug, pale and flat, and he would understand that they were the result of a lonely year.

Pam spent the summer staring at the things on her desk, thinking about how every single one seemed to remind her of Jim. Dwight's pencil cup she'd bought from the vending machine, the stapler that reminded her of Jim's penchant for Jell-O…and how everything seemed bleak and dull without him there. She painted what she felt, and watercolor seemed like the only medium thin and pale enough to convey the way she felt when she looked up to see Ryan sitting at Jim's desk, or how she felt when he came back and told her about Karen.

Then there were the pieces she left out, though her instructors urged her to include them. The paintings done in bold acrylics, vibrant strokes of color across the canvases, which sat covered at the back of her closet so Roy wouldn't see them when he was at her apartment. She wasn't sure _why_ she'd left them out of her exhibit. They were personal, frustrated, and maybe a little angry, but nothing immediately identifiable. A small voice at the back of her head whispered that maybe she'd left them out because she was afraid that if Jim came, he'd bring Karen, and Karen would see them for what they were.

And maybe she'd hoped that Jim would come alone, pretend to be impressed by her art, and then she'd invite him back to her apartment (with only one kitchen), show him the paintings that said things she couldn't voice, and they would finally be completely honest with each other.

She thought about the canvas stowed away from the world, blue-green paint splashed across it in an extreme close-up depiction of Jim's eye the way it had looked when they kissed in the dark just ten feet from where Pam sat pretending to do work. She thought about the soft, unfocused reflection of a woman in a blue dress she'd painted in the pupil, and she hoped Roy never went looking for something in her closet.

Pam looked up and was surprised to find Jim leaning on the desk above her, thoughtfully chewing a jelly bean. "Oh," she said, surprised.

"Hey," he gave her an easy smile (_but still not a _true_ one,_ Pam thought sadly). "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"No, I was just, um, thinking." She wondered when this became so difficult. They used to chat like—well, like best friends, which is what they _used_ to be.

"Look," Jim's voice dropped to a confidential tone, and Pam couldn't help but glance over at Karen, who locked eyes with Pam for a moment before turning away. She turned her attention back to Jim to hear him say, "I'm sorry I didn't make it to your show last night. I mean, if I'd known—"

Pam felt the beginning of what could become tears forming behind her eyes. "No, it's totally okay. I mean, it was really short notice, and I'm sure you and…Karen…had plans." She silently begged him to drop the subject. _Please. Don't make this harder than it is_.

"I should've been there, Pam. You're my best friend—" her heart lifted at this, "—and I want to support your art, no matter what. And that watercolor of the building is great—it's bleak, but kind of pretty at the same time. It's real."

_He gets it._ Suddenly honesty and courage didn't seem such distant concepts, after all. The words spilled out of her mouth before she could think about them. "Well, if you're not doing anything after work, I've got them back at my place. Except the one on the wall. And there's a couple paintings I didn't put in the show…" she trailed off, realizing that this sounded exactly like a date, and hastened to add, "Just, like, if you actually want to…see them," she finished lamely.

"Definitely."

Pam looked up just in time to catch the real grin she'd been waiting for, and a smile spread across her face "Cool."

"Cool," Jim echoed, and stepped away, still smiling. By the time he sat back down at his desk, Pam was already thinking about vibrant colors and bold strokes of paint—honesty and courage.


End file.
